A/N: If ownership of Chuck were in the Cayman Islands, I'd like to go visit. Actually, even if it's not there I'd like to go visit.
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Team B was assembled around the conference table in Castle, without Bryce, of course. He was still engaged in the hunt for Fulcrum agent Jill Roberts.
"Holy shit," said Casey, shaking his head in dismay. "Mike Crawford was Fulcrum? Fuck."
"Yeah. He says hi from the other side," said Sarah. "Here. Take a look."
Zondra and Casey read Crawford's letter together.
When they'd finished, Casey said, "The Cayman's bank? It's the best we have to go on at the moment."
"Yeah," said Chuck. "I gave a quick look already. Unfortunately, it went out of business over the summer. Assets dissolved, not transferred to a larger bank, as you'd expect. No web presence at all. Some references to it in older listings of Cayman financial institutions, but that's it. It's gone and has been for a few months."
"Shit," said Zondra. "Dead end? I agree with Casey; that was our best lead."
"You're probably right," said Chuck, shaking his head.
"Well, the rest of it is pretty vague. Gray haired rich famous guy from California. Maybe some connection to New York. Maybe somewhat tech savvy. Probably only a few hundred thousand guys fit the bill," groused Casey.
"Don't forget the opera," said Zondra with a shrug.
"Tell me about Crawford," said Sarah.
"A hard man. You can tell from his letter, I think," said Casey. "Mid forties. A career man. Tour in the military, Army I think, then into the Agency. I met him in Kabul. For a CIA puke, he was ok. We got into a hairy situation and he kept his cool. Didn't overreact. Kept his shit together. Didn't allow the situation to degenerate into a gunfight."
"I thought you like gunfights," said Chuck with a half smile.
"Only ones I can win, Bartowski. The losers, I avoid."
"Ok. What do you think about him?" Chuck asked. "You trust the letter?"
"I think he genuinely wanted to fuck up Fulcrum and the Sachem. But do I think that everything he knows is in the letter? No. I'm sure he's got some kind of a stash out in Missouri, or at least clues in Missouri to a stash somewhere else, that will give us some more clues. At least about Fulcrum in general. I think he probably gave us everything he can about the Sachem."
"So, you think we head to St. Louis and check out his house and whatever else we can find?" asked Chuck.
"Yeah. I think so. We can poke around and get whatever he has that didn't make it into the letter," agreed Casey.
Zondra said, "Chuck, what about looking at the bank's records, but not through the internet? See if you can find anything that way."
"What do you have in mind?" asked Chuck.
"Well, you can't access the dead bank's systems from Los Angeles. What if you could find their hard drives?"
"Their physical hard drives?" asked Sarah.
"Sure. Why not? We all know that, unless someone took a sledge hammer to them, Chuck can find out a shitload of data," asked Zondra. "Maybe he can find something useful."
Chuck began to think out loud. "It's an island. Expensive to import stuff to an island. They won't be exporting the hard drives after use. No way. They might just destroy them, of course. But if they don't, somewhere on the island are the hard drives that were used by the bank that Crawford used for the Fulcrum operation." Chuck grinned a happy wide grin and said, "Zondra, you're a genius."
"Genius rubs off, pal," she said with a smile.
"We head to the Cayman Islands to find the hard drives," said Sarah.
Casey said, "Probably don't need all of us for that. We should split up. You guys head to the islands and Zee and I will go to St. Louis and check out Crawford's house, maybe an office or something if he had one."
Zondra, looking offended but laughing at the same time, said, "Oh come on. St. Louis in November compared to the Cayman Islands? Seriously?"
"Fine," growled Casey with a wicked grin. "You go check out the half destroyed hard drives. Call me when you're done. Maybe Walker will let you and Bartowski go on your own."
Laughing, Chuck raised a hand and said, "Um, no." Looking at Zondra he said, "No offense."
"None taken, Chuck. None taken," she laughed.
Chuck said, "It's UK territory. I'll have Langston call Sir Trevor and let him know we're heading over. Avoid any blue on blue bullshit."
"Yeah. And I'll make the calls to get the plane ready," said Sarah.
"Great," said Chuck. "The jet can drop you guys off in St. Louis on the way. Have to take us north to go south, but it's heading east regardless. Sweetie, is the airport on the Cayman Islands big enough for the plane?"
"Yeah," said Sarah, looking at something she'd found on the computer. "The Citation needs 1600 meters and the runway on Grand Cayman, the largest of the three islands, is fine. They can take us all the way in."
"Ok," said Chuck. "Sarah and I will head to Grand Cayman and you guys will head to St. Louis."
"Roger that," said Casey.
"You both suck, " said Zondra, but with a smile.
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Sarah looked out at the turquoise waters of the Caribbean Sea along Grand Cayman's Seven Mile Beach and dreamed about her honeymoon in less than two months. They would be on another Caribbean island, although one over a thousand miles east of their current location. Even with the distance, though, she expected the beautiful waters and the vibe of the island to be the same as this one. She found herself grinning widely at the thought that, by then, she'd be Mrs. Sarah Bartowski, wife to Charles Irving Bartowski, her best friend, lover, and soulmate.
She felt the pleasant sea breeze blow her hair into her face and pushed her errant blonde locks out of her eyes. The sunset would be truly spectacular, but wouldn't arrive for a couple of hours yet. Her soon to be husband (not soon enough, the thought flashed into her mind) came up behind her and put his hands on either side of her elbows where they rested on the balcony railing. He leaned forward and his lips nuzzled her neck just below her ear. She could feel his body lightly pressing against her back and she rubbed her tush against him, eliciting a hum of pleasure from her man.
They had a penthouse suite in the Ritz-Carlton Hotel on Grand Cayman, living the covers of a rich and successful software entrepreneur (which, she thought happily, was actually true). She was wearing a light sundress and little else, and Chuck was in expensive linen slacks and a loose-fitting short sleeve button up shirt. She thought he looked good enough to eat.
She spun around slowly, without pushing him away from her and wrapped her arms around his neck. Nose to nose, she said, "What time is our dinner reservation?"
"Seven," he said. They had a reservation at the five-star seafood restaurant run by a celebrity chef. She didn't know the chef, but she was sure Morgan would have.
"Humm," she said, her lips taking his bottom lip between them and pulling on it gently.
"I thought we could get a drink at the bar first," said Chuck. "Look at the water."
"Nice plan, Mr. Bartowski. But what if I have another plan in mind?" She giggled as she raised her chin slightly and licked the tip of his nose.
"Well. Soon-to-be-Mrs.-Bartowski. I think plans should be flexible enough to change as circumstances change," he said, his voice getting just a bit more hoarse.
Now she rubbed her front against his front and leaned in to whisper into his ear. "And have circumstances changed?"
"Why yes, they have, as a matter of fact," he said.
"In what way?" she whispered.
"Seems something's come up," he said, and moved his hips to prove it.
"Humm," she moaned. "Something big, it seems. I think we had better deal with it before heading to the bar. Would hate to leave something unfinished when we sit down to eat such an expensive meal. It might be distracting."
"Well..." he said, nibbling on her neck. "If you really think so."
She swung one leg around to hook the back of his leg, tightening her arms around his neck, her cheek pressed hard against his. "Oh, I do. I really do."
They made their dinner reservation on time, but never did get the drinks beforehand.
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After a morning run before the day got too hot, Chuck and Sarah were out of the hotel early and taking a taxi into the city of George Town, the capitol of the three island chain which together comprise the Cayman Islands. Both were surprised that, unlike the image of small Caribbean towns, George Town was a real city.
The day was sunny and warm, but not yet hot. They were sure, though, that sitting in the sun would be baking. Away from the water's edge, without the breeze, they found themselves hot after exploring for a while.
Chuck and Sarah found that, although the harbor area was a bit touristy with quaint colorful shops and restaurants, somewhat further back were modern five to six story office buildings, some with the names of international corporations prominently displayed on the sides. According to the address on the paperwork provided by Crawford, it was one of those which had held the offices for The First Bank of the Caribbean Sea.
Chuck and Sarah walked into the clean, air-conditioned lobby and approached the uniformed guard.
"Morning, Sir," said Chuck, with a friendly smile. "This is the building for The First Bank of the Caribbean Sea?"
"Not anymore, Sir," said the man, politely. His accent was British English, but with the cadence of the Caribbean.
"Yeah. I heard they went out of business," said Sarah. "What's the story with that? Seems weird for a bank."
The man shrugged. "Not as weird as you'd think, really. Those banks pop up and out pretty regularly, to tell the truth. Probably laundering cartel money, but that's just the gossip."
"Didn't know that," said Chuck honestly. "Any idea who's behind them?"
"Big overseas money," said the man. "At least that's what we working stiff's figure. No brilliance needed to come to that conclusion, though."
"Humm. What happens when they fold? Where does their stuff go? The computers and printers and stuff?" asked Chuck.
"No idea. Someone comes and takes the stuff. Then we lease the space to someone else."
"Is there a building manager here? Someone we can talk to?" asked Sarah.
"Sure. Mr. Fields. He manages all the buildings in the complex. His office is over in that one," said the guard, gesturing toward the neighboring building on the right. "Second floor. Just tell the bloke in the lobby that you want to talk to Mr. Fields."
"Right," said Chuck. "Will do. Thanks for your help."
They left the cool of the lobby and walked to the next building. Within a few minutes, they were in the offices of Mr. Fields. He was a dark-skinned Caribbean man, with a bald head and wearing a tidy suit and tie.
"How can I help you, Mr. Carmichael? Ms. Walker?" he asked after the introduction had been made.
"We are looking into the dissolution of the First Bank of the Caribbean Sea. Can you tell us anything about them?"
"Are you police?"
"No, Sir, we aren't," said Chuck.
"Ah. Alright then. Can't tell you too much, I'm afraid. They only leased space in the building for six months. Started the bank. Moved in. Did their business. Shut down operations and left on time. Nothing too extraordinary."
"Well," said Sarah. "If you ignore the fact that a bank was created with the intention of only being in existence for six months."
He smiled somewhat cynically and said, "Well, yes, I suppose so. I don't believe there's anything illegal about it, though. Not that I'd deposit my money there, of course. But I'm not the kind of person they are looking to do business with after all."
"Do you know who was behind them?" asked Sarah.
"No. It's why we take a large security deposit to make sure they pay the rent on time," said Fields. "I wouldn't have any responsible parent corporation or shareholder guaranties or anything like that,"
"And did they? Did they pay their rent on time?" asked Chuck.
"Yes," said Fields.
"Did they use another bank to pay the rent or did they pay it from their own accounts?"
"I don't remember. Probably their own accounts. It would be peculiar for a bank to have an account at another bank," said Fields. "I'd probably have noticed that."
"True enough, I guess. But if they paid the rent on time, they'd get the security deposit back when the lease was over, right?" asked Chuck.
"Indeed. We returned the security deposit after they'd vacated," he said.
"Do you know which bank they used to cash the security deposit check? Or receive the wire, I guess. I don't know the timing, but perhaps they couldn't deposit it into their own accounts, as they were going out of business," asked Chuck.
"No, I don't remember that one way or the other," he said with a sad smile.
"Of course," said Chuck, seemingly unbothered. But knowing he'd be able to access the information by hacking into a few different computer systems. "As they were going out of business when they vacated, did they leave any equipment behind? Any computers or printers or anything like that? Something you'd have to dispose of?"
"No, they returned the space to us with their furniture and equipment already removed."
"But they were intending to shut their doors. They would have no need for the equipment afterward. Why take it?" asked Sarah.
"Well, someone would use it, I guess," said Fields. "They sold it to a secondhand business furniture and equipment dealer. Someone who'd buy it in bulk and take it away for them," he said.
"And how do you know that?" asked Chuck. "Who removed their stuff?"
"Because I needed to have their insurance information before I let them in to start moving the tenant's possessions out of the space. It wasn't a particular surprise. I've dealt with them before. Three, maybe four times."
"So, it's someone local?" asked Chuck.
"Oh, yes. Just outside of town," said Fields.
"Could you give us the contact, please?" asked Sarah.
"Of course," he said, looking at his computer and jotting down some information on a piece of paper. "Here you go," he said, reaching across the desk to hand Sarah the note.
Chuck and Sarah stood up and thanked him for his time and trouble.
As they stepped out of the building into the sunshine, both Sarah and Chuck had an immediate and similar feeling. They were being watched. They glanced at each other, communicating without words, but suddenly on higher alert.
From her peripheral vision, Sarah saw a man leaning against the outside wall near the exit to the street, only about ten to fifteen meters away. The man pushed himself off the wall and began to walk their way. Both Chuck and Sarah began to tense up.
Before they were able to do anything concrete to react to the man's approach, he sang, "Aqualung, my friend, don't start away uneasy. You poor old sod, don't you see? It's only me."
Chuck and Sarah stopped in their tracks and smiled at each other, then at the man. Turning to the approaching man, Chuck said, "Hello, Syd."
"'Ey, matey. 'Ey, Sarah. 'Ow's your luck?"
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A/N2: Not quite thirty years ago, my wife and I had our honeymoon on Grand Cayman, a beautiful island. Lots of scuba diving. Lots of happy memories.
A/N3: I made up the banks that pop in and out of existence. I'm confident that regulators wouldn't cosset that kind of thing. And the regulators for the Cayman Islands are first-world, as it is United Kingdom territory. Not too likely to be careless.
A/N4: What think you all? Let me know, if you can. And thanks for reading along.